


please, can anyone hear me?

by IcyPanther



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe Season 7 ending, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Burns, Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Injured Lance (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) Whump, Langst, Protective Allura (Voltron), Protective Coran (Voltron), Protective Keith (Voltron), Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 23:59:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16670869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyPanther/pseuds/IcyPanther
Summary: “Red, Redplease,” Lance pleaded, choking. “Guys. Anyone. Pl-please. Can,” he coughed again, smoke bitter on his tongue, “can anyone h-hear me?” Only the crackle of flames answered. / The Red Lion crashed following the battle on Earth. Lance survives… but the real battle is only just beginning.





	please, can anyone hear me?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wingedflower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedflower/gifts).



> **Timeline notes:** An AU taking place immediately following the crash of the Lions at the end of season seven.
> 
>  **Warning notes:** Nothing too terrible, some near-death moments and sort of graphic-ish but not really descriptions of burn injuries.

 

Something was burning.

Lance could smell it. It was a bitter, acidic scent of metal and cloth and smoke that made him gag and then cough as it flowed up his nose and into his mouth.

There were popping sounds, groans and crackles and a hiss of static in his ear and as Lance started to pull apart the sounds he began then to notice the pain.

Something sharp was pressed against his side, stabbing with every strangled cough, and there was a pressure against his legs.

But it was the heat, the whisper of something too hot to be safe, that had him wrenching open his eyes.

Flames and billows of smoke greeted him from the interior of the Red Lion’s cockpit.

Lance blinked once, twice, trying to make sense of it and the tilted sideways world.

And then…

Sendak. The Atlas. The armada. Another robot. And then…

And then...

“Guys,” Lance croaked, distantly recalling the sensation of being _torn_ from Voltron, sent head over heels with dead controls and Red unresponsive, and the screams of his team echoing through his comms.

Static buzzed. Comms were down.

The flames crackled louder.

“R-Red” he coughed, the cockpit filling more and more with smoke.

The Lion didn’t answer.

“Red,” he repeated, more urgently.

Still nothing.

He had to get out.

The thought was both urgent and sluggish as the smoke battered his face — visor down, he faintly noted — and with it now a bevy of hot sparks.

His hands fumbled to lift him from the seat of the apparently overturned Lion.

They didn’t move.

He glanced down, confused.

The pain registered a tick later.

His right arm was crushed between the seat and his body, the entire chair smashed in from a piece of paneling that had dislodged in the crash.

His left had been run through by a giant shard of glass and was pinned to the chair behind him.

Red’s front window most likely.

Lance stared as red blood _dripped dripped dripped_ down his suit to land on the formerly white armor.

He was stuck.

He was stuck in a burning ship.

“Red,” he gasped. “Red, wake up.”

He didn’t even feel a touch of her presence.

The flames left the front panel, creeping onto the debris strewn on the floor.

Lance tried to pry himself up but stopped with a short scream as the glass _tore_ into his arm and his legs cried out from where they were trapped beneath another part of the console. They were growing warm beneath the armor and he could feel it starting to compress.

“Red, Red _please,”_ he pleaded, choking. “Guys. Anyone. Pl-please. Can,” he coughed again, smoke bitter on his tongue, “can anyone h-hear me?”

No one.

Lance tried to swallow back the panic.

No time.

Focus.

He had to get free.

Somehow.

The flames jumped onto the panel holding his legs captive.

It _burned._

“Red, _por favor, ¡despierta!_ Red, please, _por f-favor.”_

It was getting hard to breathe.

“R-Red,” Lance tried again, tried to twitch his fingers to somehow do _something_ with his bayard, still in Red’s console.

Nothing.

Tears were starting to blur his vision from both the smoke and fear and _pain_ as he could feel the heated metal starting to warp.

He tugged again at his arm with the glass but it was too long, too deeply lodged in, and no way for him to remove it.

“A-anyone, please. I c-can’t move.”

The flames were crawling up the panel on his legs now, gunning for his less protected thighs where the armor plating did not cover.

“Please,” Lance begged. “Please. Anyone. I can’t—”

He broke off with a _scream_ as the flames latched onto the underarmor.

Fire retardant it was not.

“Red! _¡Por favor! Dios, por favor. Por favor.”_

The flames caressed his stomach.

Lance’s scream turned into a _wail._

He was going to be burned alive.

“Red, Red, _por favor, despierta. Por favor. Por—”_

The scent of burning flesh filled his nose as the flames ate through the cloth.

Lance threw his head back, smashing it inside the helmet, screaming and crying and begging for Red, for his team, for his mamá, for _anyone,_ please, please help him, he was going to _die_ he was going to _die._

 _Dios,_ he was going to die.

The thought wasn’t as terror-inducing as it should have been as around the agony he could feel himself starting to fade.

He prayed the smoke took him first.

Even though…

He didn’t want to die.

He didn’t want to die _alone._

His head drooped and even the pain as something struck his exposed jaw, _burning_ at his skin, couldn’t be given voice as his lungs were closing up and the world was starting to darken.

At least…

The flames traveled up his chest.

At least…

His body jerked as the fire embraced him.

At least…

His tears dried in the heat.

At least the world was safe now.

He prayed his team was too.

It was the only comfort he had.

Ocean eyes flickered closed to a lullaby of nightmares composed of flames and static with a blanket of smoke and fire.

xxx

_“A-anyone, please. I c-can’t move.”_

“Does anyone have a lock on him yet?” Shiro demanded, trying not to give into panic as Lance’s pleas across the headset grew more and more desperate.

“Working on it, Number One,” Coran’s fingers flew over the keyboard while all around the crew of the Atlas reached out to the other Paladins, all whom were down for the count following the battle but their signals were strong and steady.

Lance’s was not.

It had cut out and the only thing they had was a garbled audio feed and they’d lost sight of where the Red Lion had crashed.

It didn’t sound like they had much time.

“ _Please,_ ” Lance’s voice crackled, desperate. “ _Please. Anyone. I can’t—_ ”

He cut off with a scream.

“Coran!” Shiro snapped.

Oh God.

“Got it!” Coran gasped. “Sending it now.”

“Veron—” Shiro whirled to where Lance’s sister was.

Or had been.

_“Red! ¡Por favor! Dios, por favor. Por favor.”_

Lance’s scared, panicked voice echoed in his ear.

“ _I’m already en route,”_ came the sharp reply of Veronica on the bridge comms and a sound that could only be an MFE jet roaring in the background. “ _Griffin and I are three minutes out.”_

Lance let out a shriek.

It kept going.

“Make it one,” Shiro ordered, heart in his throat.

“All four other Paladins accounted for, Captain,” Iverson stood at Shiro’s side, face damp with sweat. “Teams are being sent to retrieve them now.”

“Good,” Shiro spoke over Lance’s continued, desperate pleas, trying to find relief in at least one bit of good news. “Tell them—”

Lance _wailed,_ nearly rupturing Shiro’s eardrum, and the sound of static grew louder along with a harsh sounding thunk.

“Lance!” Shiro screamed, even though he knew from previous attempts Lance could not hear him. “Lance!”

Lance broke off into a babble of pleas and sobs.

“Veronica, get there _now,”_ Shiro ordered, begged.

“ _Mamá lo siento. Por favor. R-red. Por fa...favor.”_

“He’s…”

Lance was growing quieter.

“ _Forty-five seconds,”_ came the clipped response.

“ _Por favor… por… l-lo… si… sien...to….”_

Lance went silent.

Shiro screamed for him.

Only static and the dull crackle of flames answered.

xxx

“—heart rate keeps—

“—tee bee es a is almost thir—”

“—my brother. Please, I need to—”

Veronica?

Lance picked out her voice — and when had Veronica ever sounded so _scared?_ — amidst the shouting and screaming around him.

Agony struck with the barest awareness.

He might have screamed, he wasn’t sure.

Something was over his mouth.

It was _in_ his mouth.

He choked.

“—drip now!—”

“—where is Doctor Pr—”

“—ance, _por favor, espera—_

Lance let out a muffled scream as something — hands — grabbed at him.

The agony flared and his throat constricted around something lodged down it.

More screaming.

“—him now! He’s—”

“—third degree on anterior tr—”

“—chest compressions, keep him—”

“—ere is that seda—”

Someone gripped his hand.

It felt desperate.

He couldn’t grip back.

The voices were slowly fading out.

Lance followed them into darkness.

xxx

“How is he?”

Veronica jerked her head up at the quiet, raw, sounding voice of Takashi Shirogane (“call me Shiro,” he’d insisted when they first met with a boyish grin that could not fully hide eyes that had seen far, far too much), who looked not like a captain in that moment but a scared, _terrified,_ young man.

“Alive,” she said softly.

It was about all she could say.

Her throat felt thick as she glanced back at the figure on the bed, but she had no tears left to shed.

She was aware of Shiro stepping up next to the chair she was perched on, a soft teal glow bathing the side of her face from his arm port.

His gaze was fixed on Lance too.

Lance, covered nearly head to toe in dressings and bandages, with only a light blanket pulled up to his waist to preserve his modesty, face scrunched with pain although it was hardly visible around the mask and tube they had forced down his throat as he hadn’t been breathing when Veronica had arrived to pull him out of that burning ship, her own arms sporting burns for her frantic efforts.

Her fingers were blistered and wrapped now from ripping off burning hot armor, smoldering clothes and then _slamming_ her hands down atop Lance’s still chest, skin red and raw beneath, screaming at him to breathe while Griffin had torn off the rest of Lance’s armor and clothes and then swapped with her for compressions and rescue breaths until Garrison medical had arrived.

She didn’t even feel the pain.

Her heart hurt more.

Her little brother, her _baby_ brother, who she’d just been reunited with, was…

He’d…

He’d _died._ Heart stopped, face slack, covered in burns and raw flesh and she never, _never,_ wanted to see him like that again.

He was lifeless even now, sedated for his own safety and comfort.

She was still terrified.

It was just a quiet stagnant version now.

Thirty-two percent of his total body surface area had been badly burned, the doctor’s said. His upper legs and his stomach had suffered the worst, third degree in most places, while second degree had covered his lower legs and feet and chest with a few low degree second and first burns against his arms and his right hand.

His right foot was broken, his right radius cracked. His left arm had been impaled and stitched over the burns that had formed there. He had four cracked ribs now courtesy of her and Griffin.

His face would scar where a burning piece of console had impacted, _sliced,_ into it and burned the inner flesh from cheek to chin on his left side.

That didn’t even account for the twisted, burned, distorted flesh hidden beneath dressings that smelled still of burnt meat. The doctors said they hoped that was the worst of it although even with precautions they said infection was likely.

Already Lance’s cheeks were flushed with heat unrelated to flames.

“I did this,” Shiro whispered, drawing her attention from trying to pick out Lance’s face beneath the bandages and tubes. “I…” he swallowed, throat bobbing. “I should have…”

“You did all you could.”

The words were more curt than Veronica meant them to be.

“You did all you could,” she repeated, softer.

Silence reigned save for the steady soft hum and beeps of the machines hooked up to Lance.

“The others?” Veronica inquired after a few minutes.

She needed some good news.

“Okay,” Shiro let out a heavy breath.

He gave an abbreviated version of the rest of the Paladins: Hunk broke both legs in a several places, one of which had shattered and would require surgery, and had a concussion so he’d be confined to a bed for a while and then a wheelchair. Pidge had a concussion and a broken right arm. Keith had escaped with only an assortment of bruises although he was on concussion watch as his head had taken a severe hit and Allura the same with the addition of a cut across her stomach that would heal with no issue.

It almost wasn’t fair.

They were all going to walk away without permanent consequence while her brother...

He’d lived.

But at what cost was yet to be determined.

A harsh inhalation sounded from the door and Veronica and Shiro turned as one.

“Oh, _Dios,”_ Mamá was standing there, hands over her mouth while Papá was behind her, eyes heavy, both fixed on the bed.

“ _Mi hijo,”_ Mamá murmured, taking a trembling step into the room. “ _Mi hijo._ Lance, no. No no no no.”

“Mamá,” Veronica whispered. “Papá.”

She felt something in her heart break as a matching ocean gaze lined with tears met hers.

“ _Mija,”_ Mamá let out a low sob. “Veronica, _tu hermano…_ _Por favor. Dime. Dime que no es ... no es tan malo como parece.”_

Veronica remained silent. That was an assurance she could not give.

Mamá had reached Lance’s bedside and her hands were white-knuckled on the low railing.

 _“Mi hijo,”_ she choked out. “ _Mi pobre hijo.”_

She sank to her knees and Veronica propelled herself from the chair, kneeling next to her and wrapping her arms about her mother’s shaking form.

“Lance _es fuerte_ ,” Papá spoke although tears were glimmering in his eyes. “ _Él estará bien.”_ One of his hands descended on Veronica’s shoulder and the other on Mamá’s. “ _Él estará bien,”_ he repeated, prayed.

Mamá let out a broken cry.

Veronica buried her face into her mother’s shoulder as though she could hide away from this like she had done with bad dreams as a child and felt her own tears starting again.

She couldn’t be strong anymore.

Her brother...

Shiro slipped silently from the room, feeling like an intruder to the family’s grief.

He gave into his own sobs as soon as he was down the hall.

xxx

_Beep..._

_Beep..._

_Beep..._

Lance’s brow furrowed.

What was that?

_Beep..._

_Beep…_

Lance went to groan in annoyance as the beeping _hurt_ his slowly becoming aware headache.

He choked instead.

Panicked eyes flew open and he went to move his hands to his face.

They didn't respond either.

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

He gagged around whatever it was that was in his mouth but all that seemed to do was shove it in deeper and he gagged more.

He couldn’t breathe.

_Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep—_

His eyes were blurring and he thrashed his head weakly on the pillow, trying to dislodge whatever it was but it was getting _worse_ and he was going to suffocate and—

“—ad, easy Lance. You’re okay, my boy. You’re okay.”

Something peach and orange colored moved into his line of sight and very, very lightly touched down on his forehead, stopping his movements.

“Don’t fight it. It’s helping you, lad. Easy does it now.”

Coran.

Lance finally was able to place the voice.

He tried to do as Coran asked, but sucking in a deep breath to try and calm down only made him gag again.

_Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep—_

“Breathe with me now,” Coran instructed over the sound of his pulse beating in his ears and the insistent beeping. His breaths weren’t deep at all and Lance tried to mimic it.

The tight feeling in his throat lessened.

“Good, good,” Coran encouraged. “Just like that, my boy.”

Lance listened and focused on doing just that as trying to figure out _what_ was happening, _where was he?,_ was making him choke again as his breathing picked up tempo.

“—get a nurse?” he heard someone ask.

Romelle, maybe.

“Yes, yes, please do.”

Coran’s hand was gently brushing his bangs back now and Lance closed his eyes.

Now that he could breathe (somewhat) again he felt exhausted, moreso than the pain that was starting to tingle to awareness all over.

He let out a soft moan at that, at the feeling of a raw throat.

Coran continued to pet his hair, his forehead, and run a thumb in circles on his right cheek.

Lance relaxed again under the ministrations, tilting his head ever so in Coran’s direction and hearing a soft, almost sad sounding chuckle.

“Get some rest, my boy,” Coran murmured.. “You’ll…” Lance could hear him swallow. “You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

Lance drifted off to Coran’s gentle touch and a soothing murmur.

 _Beep… beep… beep…_ followed him into his dreams.

xxx

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Allura heard the question.

She ignored it, gritting her teeth.

Sweat dripped down her face, pooling on her chin and landing on the blanket that covered Lance, just below where her hands were placed over his heart.

“Allura!”

Hands descended on her shoulders and _yanked_ her away from the bed.

Allura stumbled and would have collapsed as the world spun about her had the hands not tightened and her name called again, this time of concern, and she found herself being lowered to the floor, bare knees hitting cold metal.

“No,” she gasped, trying to pull out of the hold. “I… I need to—”

“Allura—”

“I have to help him,” she protested, pleaded, alarmed to feel tears stinging her eyes. “Keith, _please_.”

She had to help him.

She’d been privy to Lance’s screams, his prayers, as the Red Lion burst into flames around him and could do _nothing_ then as her Paladin, her _friend,_ was nearly burned alive except to scream with him and plead for the Blue Lion to wake up, to go to his aid.

And now…

Now it had been nearly three days since then and other than Lance awakening once, panicking, Coran had said with downcast eyes, he had been kept in an unconscious state to allow his body to rest, to heal.

But the humans’ medical capabilities were lacking. They had saved Lance’s life, yes, but…

But it was not enough.

And the figure lying on the bed, covered in more bandages than visible skin, and so _still,_ was not the young man she had come to care deeply for. It was wrong.

She had saved his life once; restarted his heart after he had taken that blow for her. She had learned much since then and while her powers could not restore him she could _help_ him.

Or, she could have.

But his body was rejecting her attempts, his quintessence levels so low even now that the presence of her own was seen as a threat. If she’d gotten there sooner before his own had started to act offensively in defense, before his body’s natural healing processes began to try and repair and _scar_ him…

But she hadn’t. She’d been confined to her own bed for a head injury concern and now, when she’d finally managed to escape both the nurses and Coran, it was too late.

She had to try though.

Lance would do the same for her.

“Allura, you _can’t,”_ Keith’s voice broke on the last word. His hands tightened on her shoulders, hospital gown bunching beneath the grip. “You’re hurting yourself,” he continued quietly. “Lance… Lance wouldn't want that.”

“It is not fair,” she whispered, hearing the truth in those words but not wishing to believe it. “It is not.”

“I know,” came the soft response.

Allura tilted her head back, frown tugging at her lips as she took in Keith, needing to focus on something else, anything else.

He was clothed just as she in a hospital gown.

“You should not be here either,” she observed.

Another patient who had snuck out of bed.

His lips quirked up for a split-second before they fell and he shook his head. “No. But I…”

He had to see Lance.

He’d heard his screams too over the comms, his pleas for Red to respond.

Keith had yelled the same, begging his old Lion to wake up, to do _something,_ she was _hurting_ Lance.

The Lion of Fire was going to burn her Paladin alive.

He’d managed to pull himself free of Black to charge there himself but realized he had no idea _where_ Lance was and yelling into the comms only yielded confusion from Allura (and terrifying silence from Pidge and Hunk) and Shiro hadn’t had coordinates then.

When they finally materialized, sent by Coran, Keith knew he was too far, several miles of desert between him and the Red Lion, and he’d had no choice but to wait, collapsing outside Black’s despondent body, and listen as Shiro relayed much too later that Veronica had him.

He hadn’t said anything else and didn’t respond to any of Keith’s questions except to “stay there” and “help would be there soon.”

Keith had been confined to his own room as well with a guard of nurses, Shiro and even his wolf, the traitor, forcing him to remain in bed to rest. He’d finally convinced his wolf to let him leave and they’d teleported in only to find Allura already there.

Keith cast his gaze up to the bed and lighting on Lance’s face. It was mostly visible, a change he’d been told from an exhausted looking Shiro who did provide updates on the team in a bid to keep Keith in bed, as originally he’d been intubated but now was on a nasal cannula, or a thin tube positioned right below and just inside Lance’s nose.

Shiro had been picking up far too much medical terminology in the past couple days, Keith thought, and by extension Keith had been absorbing it too as Shiro rambled. But Shiro was determined to know how it all worked as he was both Keith’s guardian (Krolia not yet arrived and even then a stranger in a strange place where things were already confusing enough) and had temporary guardianship over Hunk until his parents could be retrieved (and given the large scale firefight travel all around the area had been severely hampered and only emergency personnel were moving about).

It was why Keith knew so much about what awaited Lance once he woke up.

He winced thinking about it.

There…

There was so much damage.

The doctors, Shiro had told him, said Lance was _lucky._ Not only had he lived (and he would, out of the danger zone now), but none of the injuries were permanently debilitating that surgery and therapy could not fix over time.

Lucky.

Keith let out a huff as purple eyes traced Lance’s face — the bandage on his left cheek covering a wound that Shiro had quietly said would scar — and then down arms wrapped up in bandages so not even a patch of light mocha flesh was showing and the rest covered by a thin hospital blanket.

Lucky.

And yet…

Yet it was true.

Lance could have…

He could have so easily died.

After all they’d been through, all of the battles and near misses in space, after the fight was _over,_ Lance had almost…

Keith’s stomach rolled uncomfortably while his heart clenched painfully.

It had been too close.

A wet nose pressed against Keith’s neck and his wolf let out a soft huff.

Someone was coming.

“We need to go,” he said quietly. He was impressed they’d managed this long without being caught; Lance had hardly been left unattended between his family and Coran and Shiro, but it had to be exhausting to watch Lance like this.

Keith knew he felt tired.

And sick.

And _useless._

And he’d barely been here for five minutes.

Allura inclined her head and a moment later they had _poofed_ back to her room, empty save for the mice sleeping on the foot of the bed. Allura rose, her legs somewhat shaky beneath her between the attempted quintessence healing and the days of no movement.

Keith rose with her, one hand remaining on her shoulder, and guided her over to her bed.

“Thank you,” she said softly, both surprised by the gentleness and not really at all. Keith was a far cry from the reckless, withdrawn boy who had entered her castle over a deca-phoeb ago. He had grown up.

They all had.

But…

But Allura wondered if they’d grown up too much. They had seen things, done things, that someone of their human years should not ever have to be. And because of it, because of the war, because of their destiny, Lance was…

“He’ll be okay.”

Keith’s words were soft but firm and his gaze was strong as he met hers.

“He will be,” he repeated. “Lance… he’s not the kind to give up.”

Allura inclined her head. “No, he is not,” she agreed.

She reached her own hands up then, capturing Keith’s as he pulled away from her shoulder, and squeezed them. “Thank you,” she said again.

Keith looked confused. “I didn’t do—”

“You are looking out for your team,” Allura cut in. Her voice lowered. “Your family. _Our_ family.”

Keith’s cheeks highlighted pink.

“Go,” she told him, squeezing his hand before releasing it. “Or Shiro will never let you out of bed again.”

Keith let out a choked laugh.

“But come back?” Allura asked as he took a step towards Kosmo.

A real smile softened his entire face. “Later,” he promised.

And with a sharp crack the two vanished just as a chattering Romelle pushed open the door.

xxx

Keith jolted awake with a gasp, bangs plastered to his forehead and chest heaving while heat and fire slowly slipped away.

“Red?” he asked the empty room, eyes wide.

He’d felt her. His old Lion. She’d come searing into his dream, flames roaring, but behind that had been a desperation, a plea for help, and a wash of hazy blue that she’d retreated into.

Lance.

Something was wrong with Lance. Keith just knew it.

His wolf was at his side a moment later, yellow eyes gleaming in the darkened hospital room, and Keith reached out a hand — trembling, he noted — and latched it into the thick fur.

A tick later they were in Lance’s hospital room.

With two nurses and a doctor all crowded about the bed and Lance — that broken, hoarse, _scared_ tone could be none other — crying out in what Keith recognized as Spanish and nothing more.

The fact none of them noticed the pop and scent of ozone only told Keith how serious this was.

And while he had no medical knowledge he knew that for some reason Red had called him here.

 _Lance_ had called for help and he was damn well going to answer it.

He didn’t even use words, just shouldered his way to the bedside where Lance was writhing in the sheets, blood dotting his bandages, and cheeks dark with fever.

Infection.

Keith had learned from Pop that burns could be just as deadly after the fact because of the infection stemming from the open wounds that even with the best treatment could fester.

“Lance,” Keith reached out and grasped onto one of the bandaged hands, gripping it tightly.

Lance let out a choked sound and tried to pull away.

“Young man—” started the doctor.

“Lance,” Keith repeated, squeezing. “Lance, it’s me. Keith. It’s okay.”

Lance abruptly stilled.

The doctor tried again but one of the nurses shushed him. “Look,” she hissed.

Keith barely heard her, all of his attention on the fact Lance’s eyes were prying themselves open, tears swimming in dark orbs.

“Lance,” Keith said again. “Lance, you’re safe.”

One of the tears slid down a tanned cheek.

“K-Keith?”

“Yeah.”

Keith realized he should say something else as Lance was looking at him, eyes glossy with pain and fever and confusion, but comforting people had never been his forte.

What would Shiro do?

Keith tentatively lifted his other hand and placed it on Lance’s forehead, smoothing back sweaty bangs.

Lance’s head was pretty much the only place not covered with bandages, save his one cheek.

Lance’s eyes closed at the gesture even as another tear dislodged.

Keith repeated it.

He was aware of the hospital staff moving behind him, the whisper of sheets  and the scratchy sound of bandages. A foreign hand descended on his shoulder and it took all Keith had not to jump. “Keep doing that,” came the nurse’s quiet order.

“You’re okay,” Keith told Lance, continuing to slide his hands through sweat-dampened hair. He didn’t really know what else to say but that seemed to be enough as Lance was relaxing with every iteration.

And then Lance let out a pained gasp, eyes flying back open and body tensing.

“Hold him!” someone called out and Keith leaned forward, using his weight to press Lance’s head to the pillow and he was aware of the male nurse placing one hand on Lance’s shoulder and the other as an arm bar across his lower torso.

Lance was having none of it.

He tried to toss his head, to dislodge Keith’s grip, the nurse’s, crying again.

Something in Keith’s chest twisted.

“—just another minute,” called out the doctor. “Almost done.”

Keith could smell the burnt flesh and sickness even from here and he kept his eyes firmly angled on Lance’s face.

Lance’s thigh, he was guessing. One of the worst burn locations.

“K-Keith,” Lance whimpered. “K-Keith, _pl-please._ ”

“It’s okay,” Keith said softly, even though it absolutely was not.

Lance let out a _wail._

“Please,” he gasped, eyes scrunched up again. “Please, c-can anyone hear m-me?”

Keith felt like he’d been doused in a bucket of cold water.

Lance thought he was back in Red.

“Pl-please. _Por favor. Dios, por favor—”_

“Lance,” Keith’s voice cracked. “Lance, you’re not there. You’re okay. You’re s-safe. It’s okay.”

Lance only cried.

“He needs the sedative,” the male nurse said, wincing himself as Lance bucked underneath his hands. Blood welled up on the bandages on his stomach.

Keith felt his own turn.

“Please,” Lance whispered. “Please. Can anyone hear me?”

“Administer it,” the doctor ordered, sounding tired.

Keith realized with a jolt they had hoped not to, had hoped to get through whatever this was without it. Lance had been drugged for the last three days and he’d caught Shiro’s worried murmurs with Veronica outside his door that the doctors were concerned with Lance’s body starting to become reliant on it and that he did need to start waking up; it wasn’t good to keep putting him medically under with the cocktail of drugs he was on and would be for a while.

“Wait,” Keith interrupted. “Let… let me try.”

Even though he really didn’t know what he was doing.

But he’d been called here for a reason.

He could do this.

No one stopped him and he faintly heard the female nurse wish him luck.

“Lance,” he said quietly.

Lance moaned something else in Spanish.

Keith swallowed. Gentleness wasn’t working.

It was time to be firm.

“Lance,” the word came out harder then.

Lance broke off mid mumble.

“Lance,” he repeated. “We… we hear you. We found you. It’s okay now. You…” his other hand came up to lightly pat Lance’s uninjured cheek. “You did good. Okay? We heard you. You’re safe now.”

“S-safe?”

“Yeah, you’re safe. You’re okay.”

“The… the others?” Lance barely whispered.

Keith frowned. What was he—?

Oh.

_Oh._

“Everyone else is safe,” he said, voice gentling. “Hunk and Pidge and Allura and Shiro and everyone. I promise. Everyone is okay.”

Lance relaxed then fully with a little sigh.

A moment later the monitor indicated he had fallen into some version of sleep.

The same nurse from before squeezed Keith’s shoulder. “You did good,” she parroted back at him softly. “Now come, back to bed with you. You need the rest too.”

Keith wanted to protest but he suddenly felt so _tired_ and it morphed into a sick version as he spotted the bloodied, yellow pussed bandages on the foot of Lance’s bed.

Despite his exhaustion he didn’t sleep the rest of the night as Lance’s scared, pained words echoed in his head.

_Please, can anyone hear me?_

xxx

Five days, they told Lance. It had been five days since the accident.

He barely remembered any of it. Just snatches of memory, of voices.

Of burning.

He remembered that.

Too much.

He’d been sick at the memory, all acid bile, except the _pain_ that had come with it had made him black out and he’d come to to the sound of Mamá crying and the nausea had only grown worse because _he was making her cry._

He was afraid to look at himself.

He was grateful the doctors told him he had to leave the bandages and _not to touch them._ He needed that order.

Otherwise…

Otherwise he was just a coward.

Scared of his own body, his own reflection.

He’d felt the bandages on his left cheek, Veronica had quietly told him of the injury that lie beneath it.

A scar.

Just like Shiro. Just like Keith.

He couldn’t find any comfort in it.

It wasn’t even going to be the worst one.

Third degree burns, they told him. All over his stomach and thighs (and he was told he was lucky that he’d hunched over as he had for the flames had jumped up to his torso and he instead had only lighter second and first degree over his groin that would heal without issue even if they still hurt now). They’d already taken skin cells from his feet and under some fancy technology they were growing them to function as a skin graft.

It would still be a scar, it just wouldn’t be “as bad.”

Lance knew it would still be bad.

Just like the pain.

He was on a concoction of drugs to help but Lance had begged, _cried,_ for them to stop because the haziness that came with them was terrifying because it made him think of the smoke and how he couldn’t move and he was _going to die and can anyone hear him? Please he can’t move and there’s fire and Red, please—_

The worst wounds didn’t actually hurt all that much; the nerve endings had been completely burned off, but the rest of him made up for it. Still, Lance would take that over the waking fear that he couldn’t seem to free himself from. They’d relented on the heaviest of the pain medication but he’d been told he needed to remain on most of them to combat the infection and pain that they said _would_ overwhelm him.

He’d do better if he could see his team, to reassure himself that they were okay, that they weren’t… weren’t like _him,_ but he’d been told he needed to rest, to not stress as it wasn’t good for his healing. Lance had tried to protest, he _needed_ to see them, but they had been insistent. He was extremely susceptible to infection right now from both the burns (as even wrapped he’d learned they weren’t exempt and was the reason even now he had a low grade fever) and a weakened immune system and they were limiting his exposure to potential carriers.  He’d seen Mamá and Papá and Veronica and Shiro had visited once, so gingerly holding his hand in his metal one and _apologized_ so softly, so sadly, that Lance had tried to apologize back because seeing Shiro so upset had hurt worse than his injuries.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault,  not really. Lance knew that much; he’d been pinned (he tried not to think about it because his arm ached and his head swam and he could taste smoke and heat and _please, someone, it_ hurt) and Red had been down and there was no way he could have freed himself, no way he could have gotten out of that without help. And help had arrived as quick as it possibly could and he owed them his life; Coran for the coordinates, Griffin for flying as fast as he had and then again with Veronica for pulling him from Red and keeping his heart pumping until medical personnel had arrived.

He’d felt Red try to reach out to him once but her touch had been hot and he’d shied away from it as _flames and smoke and screams_ accompanied it and his guilt had flared as Red had recoiled and abruptly cut off the connection.

He was too scared to reach back out. Not yet.

He kept telling himself later.

He had no idea when later was.

If he could just do… do _something_ rather than lie in bed then maybe…

But he wouldn’t be walking anytime soon. He was scheduled for surgery tomorrow for debriding on his legs and stomach to remove the dead flesh now that he was stable and after that in a few days more they’d do the skin grafting.

Following that it would be… be _weeks_ of rest to let himself heal and then therapy to regain movement caused by both the burned skin and the atrophy that despite their the hospital’s best efforts would happen in the weeks of inactivity. He had tried in one of the rare moments of being both awake and left alone to move and the _pain_ that had stabbed through him had left him gasping and shaking and collapsed on the narrow bed.

He’d found then that the only thing on him were bandages and the hospital sheet. He’d flushed scarlet at the discovery but there was nothing to be done; the bandages on his thighs needed changed several times a day and his chest and stomach were a mess where a gown was unfeasible for all the times they’d have to take it off to treat him. He was glad he spent most of the time unconscious then, his body exhausted and still on medication that made him drowsy and light headed, so he didn’t have to see be awake when he was manhandled.

He just…

He wanted to go _home._

Lance didn’t even know where that was anymore. But it wasn’t here, in this sterile hospital room with only one visitor allowed at a time and, as kind as they were, strangers in the doctors and nurses, and he spent far, far too much time alone locked in dreams turned nightmares that he had trouble escaping from with the hiss of heat and crackle of flames and his own screams and pleas echoing.

He couldn’t even find comfort in his family’s touch; his body so burned and injured that he had to settle for caresses to his right cheek, Mamá’s fingers through his hair and Veronica’s bandaged hands gently lying atop his own.

It wasn’t enough.

He felt so _alone._

They weren’t allowed to stay in his room in the evening hours and so he had only his nightmares and the hospital staff for company when he managed to wake up from the throes of hellfire and ash-filled air and even then he sometimes lay there in the silent room broken only by his cries and the faint beeping of machines, sucking oxygen into starved lungs and trying not to burst into tears.

It was why when he woke from the most recent nightmare in the overnight that he was both alarmed and comforted to feel a hand grasping at his and fingers tangled almost painfully in his hair.

He clung to the pain, the feeling, as the roar of flames and popping metal and harsh, desperate breaths and screams that were his own and _please, please, Dios, help me, can anyone hear me? I can’t move, please, it hurts it hurts it hurts—_

“—okay, we found you, we heard you, you’re okay.”

The voice sounded both firm and scared all at once and the grip tightened on his hand.

Lance gasped and choked and was this real, was someone here?

“—not there, Lance, I promise, I promise, okay? You’re safe, we found you, it’s okay.”

Keith, he finally placed.

Keith was talking.

Keith was _here._

He must have said that aloud as Keith’s mantra changed.

“That’s right, I’m here, you’re here, you’re safe, it’s okay.”

Lance forced open tear-crusted eyes, the dark room swimming blearily, but they settled on Keith’s face, hovering just above him.

“Keith,” he repeated.

He was here.

He was okay.

And just like that he felt all of the tension just drain out of him and his body sank wearily back against the mattress with an equally exhausted breath.

“You with me?” Keith asked softly, holding the ocean gaze that seemed mostly lucid if tired. He knew his own probably looked the same; Red had stolen into his dreams again with a plea of help and Keith and his wolf had popped over within the minute to find Lance in the throes of a nightmare, broken pleas on his lips that had haunted Keith since he first heard them.

_Please, can anyone hear me?_

Lance gave a short nod.

“H-how?” he asked, throat aching.

“Red sent me,” Keith interpreted.

Lance’s eyes widened and something Keith couldn’t quite place flashed across Lance’s face.

“Oh,” came the response, voice small.

Scared.

Keith gently squeezed the hand he had grabbed and not yet let go.

“She’s worried,” he said softly. “And… and sorry.” His head _ached_ at how sorry, how scared, Red projected she was.

“‘s not her fault,” Lance mumbled after a moment.

Guilt burned hot in his stomach and he moaned, trying to curl up but that only made the burns on his legs and chest stretch and he stopped.

He became aware of Keith’s other hand tentatively sliding through his hair and soft shushing sounds over his own labored breathing from the movement.

“She knows,” Keith said once Lance’s eyes had refocused on him. “But… but she still… we, we all do, Lance. I…” Keith swallowed thickly. “ _I’m_ sorry. That… that you went through that. And that we… we didn’t get there. In time. We,” he licked his lips, not sure what Lance knew and not sure how much he should say but… “We heard you,” he finally said. “On the comms.”

“...oh,” Lance’s voice was even quieter, if higher.

“We — I — was terrified,” Keith continued quietly. “I couldn’t do _anything_ and… and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Lance.”

Just like Red, Keith knew there was no blame to be found amongst themselves. But he couldn’t help but apologize. He had been team leader. And a member of his team had almost been killed.

A member of his _family._

Lance’s fingers twitched in Keith’s grip.

Keith realized Lance was trying to squeeze back and he ran a thumb over the back of Lance’s hand, careful to avoid all of the tubes and wires connected into it.

“You heard me,” Lance said after another moment.

“Yeah.” Keith didn’t quite know where this was going.

Lance’s face softened though.

“You heard me,” he repeated. Tears were starting to prick in the corners of his eyes and Keith felt his heart jump.

Lance was going to cry.

What did he do?

But Lance’s lips were pulling into the barest hint of a smile, bandage on his cheek stretching at the movement.

Keith idly wondered what the skin looked like below it, how bad it was going to scar.

“You heard me. You s-saved me.”

Keith gave the barest shake of his head. “Veronica and Griffin—”

“No,” Lance interrupted him. “H-here. Now. You…You _heard_ me.”

Keith had saved him from his most recent nightmare.

Lance didn’t think it was the first time either.

Red may have sent him but…

But Keith had _listened._

He’d heard.

He’d come.

“Of course,” Keith whispered, throat feeling thick.

Lance gave him another smile, this one even wider even as his lips trembled, something bright and freeing and _relieved_ in the expression.

“I’ll always hear you,” Keith managed past the lump. “And I’ll always be here for you, Lance. No… no matter what. We’ll…” he squeezed their hands again. “We’ll get through this. Together.”

There was a warmth then, a breath of fire in the back of both of their minds, tentative and scared but concerned and hopeful all the same, like an ember coaxing itself back to life.

Red.

And for the first time the sudden wash of heat did not make Lance retreat. He sighed instead, eyes closing as he felt the gentle purr in his mind and Keith’s thumb rubbing circles on his hand.

“All of us,” Keith said quietly and Lance could feel Red’s promise of the same.

“All of us,” Lance repeated and at the words he could feel something loosening in his chest.

They had heard him.

They had listened.

And he was not so alone after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Commission fic for wingedflower (6k-7k) with the prompt of Lance being very badly burned following the final battle from the Red Lion and the healing afterward with a request of mainly Keith being involved and other chosen characters of Allura, Veronica, Coran and Lance’s family. Check, check, check, check and check! (and Shiro thrown in there too). Phew!
> 
> This was a fun and exhausting fic all rolled into one but if y’all ever have questions on burns in any capacity, I’m your girl. xD _Dios._
> 
> Enjoy the fic? Please leave a comment! I’d love to hear from you! ♥


End file.
